


if you're ready (like I'm ready)

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Everyone Wants a Piece of Ryan, First Kiss, Fluff, Get together fic, M/M, Mothman is Pining, Pining, Silly, crackish, shane is pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 00:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18201320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Once upon a time, Ryan Steven Bergara said he’d, “hop on Mothman for life.”Shane would later cite this moment as the start of something insane.Namely, Mothman showing up and trying tomarry Ryan Steven Bergara.





	if you're ready (like I'm ready)

**Author's Note:**

> I really thought TUA had swallowed my muse whole and wouldn't be spitting me out again for a good long while, but since the new season of True Crime drops today, I felt inspired to dust off an old BFU fic inspired by a convo in the discord, and I'm quite pleased with it! I forgot how fun it is to write these boys.
> 
> big thanks to Hannah for beta'ing!
> 
> enjoy!

Once upon a time, Ryan Steven Bergara said he’d, “hop on Mothman for life.”

Shane would later cite this moment as the start of something insane.

Namely, Mothman showing up and trying to _marry Ryan Steven Bergara_. Among other things.

-

Shane slaps for his phone on his bedside table and doesn’t have to check to see who it is before he answers. “What?” He says, voice soft and scratchy from sleep.

“Uh,” Ryan draws out the syllable. “If I were to, I dunno, tell you that Mothman is in my living room and proposing to me right this very moment, what would you say?”

Shane pulls his phone back from his face, stares at Ryan’s contact picture, unimpressed—because he can’t currently stare at _real_ Ryan, unimpressed—before sighing. “What?” He asks again.

Ryan makes a slightly desperate noise. “Mothman is in my fucking living room with a, a fucking diamond ring in a little black box.”

Shane snorts. “You expect me to believe—?”

An inhuman, otherworldly screeching cuts off Shane. It sends shivers down his spine and his eyes, crusted with sleep sand, snap wide open.

“Ryan.”

“Uh, he says ‘hi.’ Maybe. He’s, he’s flapping his wings now, so maybe not.” The noises over the phone grow faint as Ryan presumably covers the phone and talks to _whatever the fuck is in his living room_. “I think, I think he wants me to hang up on you.”

Another screech, and then the line goes dead.

Shane stares at his phone and figures he has one of two options.

One, assume it’s all a prank and see if Ryan shows up to work tomorrow. This is probably the best course of action, because it’s nearing three in the morning and Shane desperately needs his sleep. And really, what are the odds of Mothman _actually_ being in Ryan’s living room? Slim to none, that’s what.

Option two… Shane could get out of his very comfortable bed, throw on some clothes, drive the twenty minutes to Ryan’s place, and make sure his best friend is okay. This is a compelling option only because, for all that he razzes the guy, it isn’t like Shane really wants Ryan to get murked by an interdimensional being. It’d be bad for ratings.

( _Would it, though?_ Shane hums to himself.)

Groaning, Shane kicks off the covers and starts hunting for something to wear.

He gets to Ryan’s place in twelve minutes because, as mentioned, it’s nearing three in the god damn morning and even in LA, traffic is pretty dead this time of day. And okay, maybe he sped, _just a little._ He stares at Ryan’s nice little welcome mat that doesn’t feel very welcoming at the moment, then raises his hand to knock.

“Thank fuck,” Ryan says as he wrenches open the door before Shane’s knuckles can even make contact. “Did you know Mothman can cook?”

Shane blinks. Ryan is alive and breathing, if flushed and looking a bit panicked; that really should be good enough for Shane. He could turn back, go home, get at least a few hours of shuteye before his alarm goes off.

“What’s he making?” Shane asks instead.

“Scrambled eggs, it’s all I’ve got in the house right now.”

Shane levels Ryan with a disapproving look before stepping over the threshold. “Scrambled eggs are the least he could do for waking us up at this hour.”

“I mean, I was already awake, but—?” Ryan’s voice fades away, at least to Shane’s ears, as he rounds the corner and sees an eight-foot-tall winged beast meandering around Ryan’s kitchen.

“Well,” Shane says, “I’ll be damned.” He knows he should be scared, or at least in some way alarmed—his entire belief system is crumbling right before his eyes, like the handfuls (clawfuls?) of cheese being sprinkled into the first helping of eggs—but he can’t muster the emotion to save his life. So he just stares instead. “What, no apron?” He says.

Ryan seems to choke on his next breath. “I don’t own an apron,” he rasps.

Shane nods. “Uh huh.”

Mothman moves with alarming ease through Ryan’s kitchen, in a way that almost seems like he’s familiar with the space. But that’s super not possible, this _whole thing_ is super not possible, and yet…

“Oh, he’s adding milk,” Shane observes as Mothman drops a hefty splash of milk into the bowl presumably containing the whisked eggs. “He knows his shit.”

Ryan tugs at his sleeve. “Dude,” he hisses. “You’re freaking out.”

“I’m completely chill,” Shane says, cursing the way his voice shakes ever so slightly.

“I’m freaking out too, it’s okay.”

“You’re _always_ freaking out.” Shane watches as Mothman’s wings twitch, tucked close to his body, as he upends the bowl of whisked eggs into a hot pan. Shane’s full on mesmerized, so much so that he doesn’t realize the eggs are all finished and dished up on three plates until Ryan’s none-too-gently elbowing him in the side. “Thanks, man,” Shane says and he’s not sure if he’s talking to Ryan or Mothman.

Mothman’s red eyes finally fall on him and that’s a death glare if Shane’s ever seen one. He’s pretty familiar with them, actually. Hard to miss. Ryan levels them at Shane all the time—although even those aren’t usually _quite_ as murderous as this one.

Even so, Shane falls into one of the seats at Ryan’s dining room table and watches as Ryan and Mothman do the same. When Mothman picks up a fork with a clawed hand, Shane almost inhales his eggs instead of swallowing them; it’s only Ryan’s terrified, gobsmacked expression that keeps him breathing evenly. _Someone_ has to not absolutely lose their mind right now.

“So,” Shane starts. Red eyes snap to him in an instant. “What brings you by?”

Ryan’s gaping at him now. Shane ignores him for the moment.

Mothman screeches, low but just as chilling as the one he heard over the phone.

“Uh huh,” Shane says. He pauses long enough to shovel a forkful of cheesy eggs into his mouth, chews it thoughtfully, then says, “Ryan said you brought a ring?”

Mothman’s wings twitch and there’s an enormous sense of power even in the minute action. It’s clear that Mothman is _strong_ , could wreck the whole place in seconds if he so chooses. Is that going to stop Shane from pressing this issue?

Definitely not.

“Can I see it?”

 _“Shane.”_ Ryan hisses. He’s too far at the opposite end of the table to kick Shane, at least.

Mothman’s red eyes narrow and the box appears suddenly on the dining room table. Shane reaches for it, under both Mothman’s and Ryan’s watchful eyes, and opens the little box. Sure enough there, cushioned inside, is a pristine diamond ring. It’s got a thick and basic silver band, and the diamond set into it is a modest size, not too flashy.

The worst part is, Shane could see Ryan wearing this.

“How… where… no, _how_ did you get this?” Shane decides to ask. He doesn’t dare touch the ring itself; as it is, Mothman looks ready to gut him for simply holding the black velvet box.

Another screech. Shane nods like he understands. He looks at Ryan, who looks ghostly pale—Shane laughs to himself, then blames it on the delirium of the odd hour. Of the absolutely insanity happening right now. Ryan’s gaze is whipping between the ring, Shane, and Mothman. He hasn’t eaten any of his eggs, and Shane can’t really blame him, even though they’re pretty good eggs.

Shane sets down the ring and forks another bite of eggs and says, “Listen.”

The antennae on Mothman’s head twitch.

“I don’t know exactly what you thought would happen,” Shane continues, forcing his voice to stay steady, “But you can’t marry Ryan.”

“Shane—?” Ryan starts again.

Mothman growls.

Shane doesn’t let that nor the otherworldly chill deter him. “No, look, I get it. He’s a catch.” And okay, maybe his ears are burning a little bit. “And he _did_ say he’d hop on you for life, one time.”

Another antennae twitch, as if to say, “ _yes, I’m aware.”_

“But,” Shane drawls, stalling just a little bit. The words are in his brain, in his _heart_ , even—getting them out into the open is another matter entirely. He looks away from Mothman but finds he can’t bring himself to look at Ryan, either. He looks down at the scraps of eggs on his plate instead. “But,” he says again, “You can’t marry him.”

“Shane.”

Mothman tilts his head. His gaze, somehow, shifts from menacing to almost curious. At least, that’s Shane’s best guess. He could be way off.

“I’m in love with him,” Shane blurts. Distantly, he’s aware of Ryan’s overdramatic gasp, and were it any other time, Shane would laugh. _Hard_. “Haven’t told him, but obviously now he knows. And I’m not saying we’re gonna get married and ride off into the sunset or anything, but…”

“But,” Ryan agrees softly from the other end of the table.

Shane finally manages to look up with a faint grin. “I can promise you if he and I ever, uh, break up,” which feels weird to say when they aren’t even actually together yet, “You can have first dibs.”

“Don’t I get a say?”

“You already _had_ your say,” Shane counters and finally looks back to Mothman. “So, there you have it.” He lays his hands out palms up. “I wanna hop on Ryan Bergara for life. I think.”

“You _think_?” Ryan squawks, but he’s interrupted by an almost-trilling noise from Mothman.

Mothman’s antennae are twitching, as are his wings. His eyes are narrowed again but he looks less menacing, more thoughtful. Shane bites the inside of his cheek and dares to hope that this will _work_. He’ll deal with everything else (read: _Ryan_ ) later, as long as this gets Mothman off their backs. Or at least, gets him to put away the idea of marrying Ryan.

Mothman sits up straighter and pushes his suddenly-empty plate away. He trills again, growls, and then stands. Ryan jumps when the dining chair screeches across the floor, but Shane feels frozen solid.

Mothman sweeps a hand over the table and the black velvet box is gone. He nods at Shane, looks at Ryan and twitches a single antenna, and then between one blink and the next, he’s gone.

“What the _fuck_?” Ryan asks loudly.

Shane groans and hides his face in his hands. “Any chance at all we can talk about this tomorrow morning?”

“It _is_ tomorrow morning, asshole. So talk.”

Shane peeks through his fingers; he’s gratified to see Ryan’s ears are as pink as Shane’s feel. “I already said it.”

“Say it _again_.” And this time, Ryan’s tone is a touch less panicked, less angry. He sounds a little more breathless. Excited.

“I love you,” Shane says, muffled behind his hands. “That’s it.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, it kind of sounded like you’re maybe cool with that?” Shane says with an edge of sarcasm. “Do I need to explain how dating works?”

Ryan stands abruptly and hurries around the length of the dining room table to stop beside Shane’s chair. “Stand up.”

“You sure?” Shane asks. “You’ve got a better angle this way.”

Ryan groans and knots a hand in the collar of Shane’s rumpled hoodie and _yanks_. Shane stumbles to his feet and practically falls into kissing Ryan, pulled along by Ryan’s insistent grip. It’s sloppy at first, off-kilter, but they adjust after a few seconds. Ryan loosens his hold on Shane’s hoodie and presses his palm to his chest instead. The touch is warm and tender, and it spurs Shane to reach for Ryan’s hips.

Slowly but surely, the kiss shifts to something cleaner but no less electric. Shane tilts his head and Ryan goes up on his toes to get closer and deepen the kiss. They make out for a few minutes, until they’re both breathing heavy and light-headed.

Shane pulls back first. “So,” he says. “I _don’t_ need to explain dating to you, then?”

Ryan grins, all teeth and bright eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Shane.”


End file.
